


this beautiful fight

by Arkham



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-05-14 14:25:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19275157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arkham/pseuds/Arkham
Summary: ❝It has been a beautifulfightstillis.❞Check, Please! tumblr prompt fills.





	1. zimmermann family bonding / zimbits

**Author's Note:**

> I've tried to make the chapter titles descriptive of the prompts, so feel free to skim around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Bob and Alicia visiting Jack as a surprise one day but they end up spending the day with Bitty, Jack had practice and Bitty was the only one in the apartment. ❤❤❤" & "family dinner with zimbits, alicia, and bob maybe??"
> 
> ———
> 
>  **RATING** — G  
>  **TAGS** — Fluff, Slice of Life

_“Hey, sugar, show me all your love, all you’re giving me is friction—”_

Bitty’s dancing around the kitchen as he sings, a bowl of batter in one arm and a whisk in the other. He’s working on perfecting a maple bourbon apple tart recipe and he thinks he’s almost got it down; the flavors on the last batch weren’t quite right, but he’s adjusted the ratio of bourbon to maple syrup on this one and he thinks they’ll blend together much more smoothly. And if they don’t, well, then the tarts will end up tasting more like maple than apples or bourbon and it’s not like  _that_  was ever a bad thing.

There’s a knock at the door and Bitty almost doesn’t hear it over the sound of Neon Trees blasting over the speakers. He drops the whisk into the bowl and scrambles for his phone, dropping the volume by a few (dozen) notches. He absently continues to hum along while undoing the deadbolt and coming face to face with—

Oh.

Well, this certainly isn’t his Amazon delivery.

 

 

~~~

 

 

After Bitty plies Bob and Alicia with yesterday’s snickerdoodles, they tell him they’re in town on a whim; they’re taking a week vacation in St. Kitts and figured they’d drop by for a day and surprise Jack with a visit.

“Oh, you should have called ahead! I could’ve gotten Jack to sneak out of practice to hang out with y’all,” Bitty says, tsking. It would have been difficult, Bitty knows, to convince Jack to skip, but Bitty has his  _ways_.

Alicia waves that off with a smile. “Oh, don’t worry about it, sweetheart. We knew he’d probably be at practice; we thought we could take you both out to dinner afterward.”

“That sounds lovely! I’m sure he’ll be thrilled,” Bitty replies, slumping a bit in his seat. Now, his mama raised him right; he wasn’t about to let his guests go un-entertained. “After I finish this batch of tarts, what do y’all think about heading to the art museum for the afternoon? I’ve been meaning to drop by and now seems like the perfect time.”

Alicia smiles. “We’d love to.”

 

 

~~~

 

 

So they spend the afternoon at the art museum.

What little Bitty knows about art he learned from Lardo, and her approach to art is much less structured than most of the stuff in the museum. Still, it’s nice to spend time with Bob and Alicia—he’s been dating Jack for going on two years but he can’t remember the last time he’s interacted with his parents so much. It’s … nice. Alicia is charming, and Bob is surprisingly down to earth. A woman approached shyly and asks for an autograph, but other than that the afternoon is quiet.

They stop for gelato afterward and Bob manages to get some on his nose. Alicia laughs and swipes it off and Bitty smiles as well.

They look so …  _comfortable_  together, like best friends more than partners. He thinks about their lives—how so much had been aired for the public to view—and marvels at how they came out the other side seemingly stronger for it. He thinks about how the slope of Jack’s shoulders matches the slope of Bob’s. He thinks about how Jack’s eyes crinkle just like Alicia’s when he smiles.

He sees so much of Jack in his parents that it makes his heart ache.

And then Alicia is looping her arm around Bitty’s and leading him to find a seat and the thought is gone, replaced by the warmth of belonging.

 

 

~~~

 

 

Jack comes home around six. As soon as he opens the door, his parents are there.

Jack barely has time to react before his dad swoops him up into a hug. He sees Bitty shaking his head and leaning against the wall with a small smile.

“ _Papa, Maman_ ,” Jack says with a small, surprised laugh. His bag drops to the ground with a thunk as he hugs back. His dad steps back and his mom swoops in, embracing him with a tight hug of her own.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, still tight in his mom’s embrace.

She pulls back. She looks mildly stern, but the effect is ruined by the brightness in her eyes. “Layover. Figured we’d turn it into a day. You’re looking thin, baby. Are you eating right?” She reaches up and tucks a stray bang back into place.

Jack ducks his head and rubs the back of his neck. “I’m eating just fine,  _maman_.” He laughs once and looks back up. “With all the pies Bitty’s been making it’s a miracle I haven’t  _gained_  twenty pounds.”

“It’s true. I’m still the bane of Nate’s existence. Doesn’t mean I’ll be stopping any time soon though,” Bitty replies with a mischievous smile. He slides forward then and gets on tip-toe to press a brief kiss to the corner of Jack’s mouth.

“We were thinking dinner. That little Italian place on the corner of North and Dogwood?” Bitty says.

“We have reservations for six thirty, so get your ass in the shower and then we’ll head over, eh?” his dad adds with a grin.

“Sounds like a plan.”

 

 

~~~~

 

 

The restaurant is  _packed_  but it’s the sort of packed where no one pays them much mind as settle in at their table. Jack is thankful; he wants a night where he and his parents can just  _be_.

Jack hasn’t been calling his parents as often as he should but sharing a meal with them is as easy as ever. Bitty and his mom wind up chatting about Bitty’s upcoming cookbook and he and his dad discuss the Habs’ starting lines this season.

It’s a simple thing, Bitty fitting into his family like this, but it means the world to Jack. Bitty was the long-lost key to a lock that Jack had all but forgotten about and seeing him here, now, even after all these years, makes his chest flutter.

Bitty glances towards him and his smile is blinding. In the low light, his hair shines golden. His dark brown eyes are soft.

Jack falls in love with him all over again.


	2. the twins learn their papa is famous / zimbits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Their kid finds out dad is famous."
> 
> Check out [this awesome fanart](https://leviathan.tumblr.com/post/182816545798/bittysvalentines-leviathan-happy-valentines)!!
> 
> ———
> 
>  **RATING** — G  
>  **TAGS** — Fluff, Slice of Life, Kidfic

“ _Papa!_ ”

Deafening shrieks greet Jack as soon as he opens the door. There’s a blur of blonde and Eloise tackles him with a hug. Mathieu hangs back, but Jack reaches out and tugs him in too.

Eloise giggles and squirms away. She takes Mathieu’s hand and drags him after her. “C’mon, Papa! We’re playing dragon!”

“ _Une minute, mon petit chou._  Papa has to shower and then we can play all the dragon you want.”

Eloise huffs. After toeing out of his shoes, Jack affectionally tousels Mathieu’s messy dark locks and is rewarded with a ducked head and a shy smile.

“Is Daddy home?” Jack asks as he shrugs off his jacket.

“Yeah,” Eloise says impatiently. “He’s in his office. Come  _on_ , Papa!  _Dragons_!”

Jack laughs. “All right, all right,” he says, holding up his hands in defeat. The twins scramble away.

He pauses as he passes Bitty’s office. Bitty is clicking away at the keyboard, a text document open on his computer screen. He has a notebook open to the side and a pen balanced precariously in his mouth as he types.

Jack leans against the doorframe and watches for a moment. The twins shriek again—he thinks he catches something along the lines of: “This time I want to be the  _blue_  dragon!”

That draws Bitty attention. He glances to the door and startles at the sight of Jack. He snatches the pen out of his mouth.

“Oh, Jack, sweetheart!” he beams and finally Jack shuffles forward and presses a kiss to the crown of Bitty’s head.

“Whatcha working on?” Jack asks before pressing another kiss to Bitty’s temple. Bitty shifts, trying to turn so he’s facing Jack.

“That op-ed for Vox. The editor wants me to cut it down by four hundred words. How was practice?”

“Same old, same old. Hops’ wife is expecting.”

“Oh!” Bitty exclaims. His smile is bright. “Tell him we’ve got an actual closet full of baby clothes with his name on it. This is their first, right? We should invite him and Anna over for dinner sometime!”

“Yeah, I think they’d love that, Bits,” Jack replies, a small smile flickering across his face. Bitty’s enthusiasm has a way of overflowing into Jack, he’s found. He leans in again and finally presses a kiss to Bitty’s lips. Bitty hums into the kiss and it’s as chaste as anything, but Jack still feels warmth bloom from his chest to his toes.

Jack leans back. “I’m gonna hit the shower. Thai for dinner?”

“Sounds great, hon.”

 

 

~~~~~

 

 

Dinner is always a chaotic affair and tonight is no different. Over boxes of take-out, Mathieu talks about how he’s learning about space in school and proudly recites all the planets. Eloise talks about how Henry tripped over her lego castle and sent the whole thing tumbling down.

Dishes neatly in the dishwasher, the four of them retreat to the living room. Bitty curls up on the couch with his Kindle and Jack is dragged to the floor by Eloise.

She’s strong in the confident way only children are and it’s so easy to just let himself melt around her and Mathieu. He remembers when the twins were babies and their tiny hands grasped his finger for the first time. That was all it took and he was head over heels. He remembers how Bitty cried when they were signing the adoption papers and how the babies fit into their life like they were always meant to be there.

Jack gets it. He gets why wall his teammates returned with stars in their eyes after their kids were born.

It turns out playing dragon mainly involves Eloise and Mathieu parading around as “knights” and Jack acting as the dragon they have to slay. He suspects this has something to do with reading them  _The Hobbit_  for the past few weeks.

Jack is pinned to the ground by two giggling six-year-olds when Mathieu leans back suddenly. He tugs Eloise back too, though she makes a noise in protest. Jack pushes himself up on one arm.

“Papa. I saw someone wearing a shirt with our last name on it,” Mathieu says.

Jack glances over at Bitty who just shrugs.

“Oh yeah, bud?” Jack prods.

“Yeah! And they were talking all about you and hockey! How did they know all that stuff? Is his daddy one of your hockey friends?”

Jack pauses and purses his lips, trying to think of the best way to explain this. “His dad isn’t one of my hockey friends,” he says and pauses again.

“Your Papa’s pretty famous,” Bitty supplies. He winks at Jack. “He’s kind of like … the Beyonce of hockey.”

“The Beyonce of hockey,” Eloise echoes with a small frown. “So … you sing when you play?”

Jack laughs. “No,  _petit chou_. Daddy means that … sometimes you might meet people that know about me without meeting me. Kind of like how you know about Beyonce without meeting her.” Jack shoots Bitty another look but he’s just grinning into his Kindle.

Mathieu and Eloise consider this carefully. They exchange a glance. “If you’re famous, can you still play dragon with us?” Eloise asks, a grave frown fixed on her face.

Jack reaches forward and tucks Eloise’s hair behind her ear. “Just because people know about me doesn’t mean I’m not your dad, sweetheart. Of course we can play dragon.”

A small smile spreads across Mathieu’s face and with a giggle and with a surprisingly strong flying tackle, Eloise takes him down to the floor with an  _oof_.

“Keep that up and one day you’ll be famous at hockey,” Jack grins.

Eloise laugh-shrieks as Jack play-fights back.

Bitty rolls his eyes at the two of them. Mathieu shuffles onto the couch and curls into Bitty’s side, obviously done with playing dragon.

All of that fame, all of that glory … it paled in comparison to this. Jack would have traded  _everything_  for this—for Bitty, for Eloise, for Mathieu. Once upon a time, that would have terrified him, but now … this—Eloise wiggling to get out of his grasp and Bitty and Mathieu curled together on the couch—was better than any of those Stanley Cups.


	3. bed sharing / zimbits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "If you’re still doing zimbits prompts, can you do a bed sharing trope fic? Maybe there’s a room mix up on a roadie, or maybe chowder needs to crash in bitty’s room and jack offers to share his bed? I just love bed sharing."
> 
> ———
> 
>  **RATING** — T  
>  **TAGS** — Bed sharing, Pining, Shitty & Jack, Drug Mention

So here’s the thing.

Jack has always slept better with another person in his bed.

It started when Jack was little. Even then, he was nervous. He’d clutch his blankets to his chin but he couldn’t bring himself to look towards the shadows lingering outside the glow of his nightlight. His mom or dad would curl up with him after reading a bedtime story, and he’d be out like a light. But that didn’t last forever.

His parents stopped reading him bedtime stories. He stopped crawling into his parents’ bed after a nightmare. He looked towards the shadows and the shadows looked back.

Even on a good night, sleep became harder and harder to find.

Then came Parse and Jack was good for a while, but they were young, and reckless, and more gifted than they had any right to be. They were a forest fire; they burned and burned and burned, but every fire has its ending.

The medication helped until it didn’t and Jack was left in a flimsy gown in a room that smelled like antiseptic and in a haze of half-sleep that was somehow worse than no sleep at all.

Parse was gone after that and Jack thought he’d never get a good night’s rest again.

Then came Samwell.

And with Samwell came Shitty, and Shitty Knight was unlike any person Jack had ever met before or would ever meet again. Jack had been in a single, technically, but by the end of his first semester it seemed like half of the stuff in his room was Shitty’s.

It started when Shitty was sexiled the first time. Shitty whisked in and collapsed on Jack’s bed after discarding most of his clothes on the trek over. Jack, only mildly unsettled, carried on with his work. When he was done, he glanced over at Shitty, who’d made himself at home—he’d pulled Jack’s covers completely over his head. Jack closed his textbook and shifted awkwardly. It was  _his_  bed, after all, but Jack had absolutely no idea how to kick Shitty out of it.

“Dude, I can  _feel_  you staring at me,” Shitty grunted and poked his head out from his mountain of covers. He patted the mattress from beneath the blankets. “Are you getting in or what?”

“Um…” Jack replied, feeling warmth rise in his cheeks.

“Listen, Jack, I love you like a brother and would never lift a finger to harm you, but if you don’t get into bed right the fuck now I’m gonna start throwing pillows. Which, why in the goddamn fuck do you have so many pillows?”

Jack wanted to point out that it was, in fact, Jack’s bed that Shitty had made himself at home in, but a bigger part of him had already warmed up to the idea of sleeping with someone again.

“I’m pretty sure checking counts as harm,” Jack chirped, but it was a weak one. With what was definitely far too little protest, Jack slipped in next to Shitty.

The dorm bed was certainly not built with two hockey players in mind, but it got the job done.

Before Jack knew he’d fallen asleep, his alarm was blaring.

It became a thing. Shitty would come over and pass out in Jack’s bed and Jack would slip in beside him. They didn’t talk about it because there was nothing to talk about. When they moved into the Haus it was like Fate Herself had waved Her hand and put Jack and Shitty in connected rooms.

It tapered off after a while, the sleeping together, but by then they’d gotten so close that they could read each other’s moods. Jack liked to think that he kept his emotions fairly close to his chest, but somehow Shitty always knew when Jack’s world got especially dark. On those nights, Shitty would make himself at home in Jack’s bed and Jack would slide in next to him and the next morning wouldn’t be bright, but it would be better.

Then came Bitty and with Bitty Jack’s whole world once again tilted on its axis.

 

 

~~~~~

 

 

It starts when there’s a mixup in rooms on a roadie.

“I know it’s not ideal but there are only two singles left and Chowder gets weird when he has to share a bed,” Lardo says with a frown. She has her arms crossed in front of her chest and is standing with one hip jutting out—her “I’m not taking no for an answer” pose.

Jack sighs. “Did you ask Bittle?”

“Yes, Jack, and he’s fine with it.” She gets an odd look on her face that Jack is unable to read.

Jack shrugs. “Whatever. Fine.” And it is, really—Jack would have done anything to keep their goalie happy and well-rested. He contemplates asking if they could do a swap-around—ask Shitty to room with him and stick Bitty with Nursey instead—but that sounds like too much effort for something that shouldn’t really matter all that much. Right?

So Jack heads up to the room, key card in hand.

Bitty is in the bathroom brushing his teeth when Jack swipes in. Jack drops his stuff on the far side of the bed and is halfway through unpacking his toiletries when Bitty collapses on the bed with a loud sigh and buries his face in a pillow.

Jack arches an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything. He glances up and his eyes linger on the exposed strip of skin where Bitty’s shirt has ridden up.

He feels his cheeks heat up and his eyes skitter away.

After his nightly routine, Jack has nothing left to do but slip into bed. He clicks off the one remaining light and the room is thrust into darkness, broken only by the dim blue light leaking in from the bottom of the curtains.

It’s a queen bed, but it still feels unbearably intimate when Jack slides under the covers. From his breathing, Jack had assumed Bitty was asleep but now Bitty shifts so he’s facing Jack. Bitty’s eyes are open slightly but downcast, his long lashes heavy against his cheeks. He yawns and it’s all Jack can do not to curl an arm around Bitty’s waist.

“G’night, Jack,” Bitty says sleepily.

“Night, Bits.”

 

 

~~~~~

 

 

Jack wakes up first. It’s a gradual thing. He approaches consciousness and is vaguely aware of something warm and solid. He wakes up a bit more and realizes he’s curled up around another person, their legs tangled together and Jack’s arm around their waist. He wakes up a bit more and he realizes the person is  _Bitty_.

It’s  _Bitty’s_  hand curled in Jack’s shirt,  _Bitty’s_  breath ghosting on Jack’s collarbone,  _Bitty’s_  ankle hooked between Jack’s.

 _Tabernac_.

Jack holds his breath and starts counting backward from fifty, first in French, then in English. Once he trusts himself not to do something  _really_  stupid, he starts untangling himself. He manages to tug his legs away, but when he moves to pull the rest of the way back, Bitty’s hand tightens in Jack’s shirt and Jack goes absolutely still as his pulse skyrockets.

Bitty’s eyes are still shut and his breathing doesn’t change so Jack knows it’s just a reflex thing, but that doesn’t alter the fact that all of the blood in Jack’s body seems to have been redirected downward. He closes his eyes and swallows hard. Carefully, Jack brings his hand up to gently pry away Bitty’s.

Finally,  _finally_ , Bitty lets go. He huffs a bit and curls in on himself and it’s the cutest fucking thing Jack has ever seen and it’s too goddamn early in the morning for this.

Jack takes a very long and very cold shower.


	4. NHL!Bitty & NHL!Jack / zimbits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I would love to see NHL!Bitty maybe facing off Jack in a game or playing on the same team. Basically just game day chirping between NHL boyfriends."
> 
> ———
> 
>  **RATING** — T  
>  **TAGS** — NHL Bitty, NHL Jack, Mentions Real Hockey Players, Falconers Ensemble, Boston Bruins

It’s always better playing on home ice with goal horns you know and crowds that chant your name.

But this has to be Jack’s second favorite rink.

There’s a sudden surge of cheers and Jack catches the tail end of an announcer saying “—and without further ado let’s welcome to the ice the Providence Falconers!”

Jack follows Thirdy and Snowy onto the ice, Tater skating on just behind him. Skating is as easy as breathing and after a few loops around their zone, Jack comes to a halt in center ice. The crowd is a sea of yellow and black, but he thinks he can spot some Falconers blue.

There’s an uptick in cheers and if he thought the crowd was loud before, it was nothing compared to this. Yellow spotlights swing across the ice and the speakers blast the opening lines to a song Jack knows, thanks to Lardo, is  _High Hopes_  by Panic! At The Disco.

The Bruins’ starting line skates onto the ice and TD Garden is absolutely roaring with applause.

Jack can’t help but smile.

Bitty is close on the heels of #33 and that’s a sight that’ll never get old; Bitty is small, yes, but he is comically dwarfed by Zdeno Chara.

On Bitty’s first loop around the rink, he skids to a halt in front of Jack.

“Loser buys the first round, eh?” Jack grins.

“You sure that’s a bet you wanna make, Mr. Zimmermann?” Bitty chirps.

“I think I can take you.”

“Oh, is that so?” Bitty’s voice is as smooth as honey.

Despite himself, Jack feels heat rise to his cheeks.

One of Bitty’s teammates— _#46, David Krejci_ , Jack recites—skids to a halt beside Bitty and claps a gloved hand on his back. “Getting the chirps started early?” he grins.

Bitty laughs. “He makes it so easy,” he says, nudging slightly sideways into Krejci.

Then the linesman is skating over and Bitty is forced to skate into his wing but not before shooting Jack a wink as he goes.

Bitty scores a hat trick and the Falconers lose to the Bruins 5-3.

Jack buys the first round.

He and Bitty don’t stay long at the bar after that.


	5. swoops dropping gloves / parswoops

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "for parswoops: one of them getting hurt during a game and the other dropping gloves, but maybe with a fluffy ending? (:"
> 
> ———
> 
>  **RATING** — T  
>  **TAGS** — Hurt/Comfort, Hockey Injuries

Kent doesn’t see the hit coming.

One minute he’s digging the puck out of the boards and the next his head slams into the plexiglass and he stumbles down to the ice with a grunt. The roar of the crowd grows distant and even though he’s on his knees the whole world feels like it’s spinning.

“Parse. Parser. Hey, you all right man?” Banksy says, getting down on a knee and resting a gloved hand on Kent’s shoulder.

In the corner of his vision, Kent can see a scrum going down, but everything still feels a bit airy so he focuses on Banksy. “Yeah, I’m fine.  _Fuck_ ,” he says. He shakes off a glove, brings his hand to his nose, and it comes back red.

“Shit, he really got you, huh? C’mon, let’s get you back,” Banksy says, getting to his feet and offering Kent a hand up.

The linesmen have finally broken up the scrum and to the box are headed two Aeros and…Swoops?

Kent blinks but before he has time to ask what happened he’s being lead off the ice and back to the dressing room by the trainers.

 

 

///

 

 

Jeff sees the hit coming from half a rink away, but he’s too far away to stop it.

Number 49—some pull-up from the Aero’s farm team he doesn’t even recognize the face of—sets Kent in his sights and charges, building up speed and slamming him into the boards from behind.

It’s a dirty hit and play gets whistled dead immediately, but that doesn’t stop the fact that Kent is on the ground and Jeff can  _see_  the splatter of blood on ice.

Then his gloves are on the ground and he’s yanking 49 closer by the front of his jersey.

“Do you have a fucking deathwish?” Jeff snarls, grappling for an angle to punch the Aero’s cheek. “They teach you how to skate in Houston or just how to hit dirty?”

49 laughs in Jeff’s face. “They teach us how to  _win_ ,” he smirks. Then his fist comes out of nowhere and connects with Jeff’s jaw.

There’s a starburst of pain and Jeff lashes back. It’s messy and they both trade blows, scrambling for the upper hand before the Aero loses his footing and goes down hard, Jeff thudding on top of him and angling his elbow so it jabs into his stomach. 49’s breath knocks out of him with a wheeze.

“That’s enough, boys,” a linesman says and a pair of hands grip Jeff’s shoulders and drag him up.

Jeff gets five for fighting but the Aero gets a game misconduct and if the league doesn’t suspend him for that hit, Jeff is flying to Gary Bettman’s house himself and yelling at him until they do.

 

 

///

 

 

“What are you, an enforcer now?” Kent says, gripping a steaming mug of tea between his palms. “You trying to put Keats out of a job?”

Swoops rolls his eyes and falls onto the couch beside Kent. He has a mean black eye forming and the cut on his cheek has butterfly bandaids holding it closed. Wordlessly, Swoops shuffles down and curls so his head is tucked into Kent’s lap.

One of Kent’s hands moves to pet through Swoops’ hair. It’s still damp from the shower at the rink and the water is cool on Kent’s tea-warmed fingers.

They sit like that for a few minutes—-Kent in sweatpants and a Troy shirsey and Swoops still in his game-day suit—-until Swoops speaks up.

“You went down hard, man. There was so much blood.” His voice is muffled by the cloth of Kent’s sweatpants.

Kent purses his lips and toys with the hair behind Swoops’ ear. “Yeah,” he agrees after a few moments. “But I’m okay. Noses bleed a lot, it turns out.”

“Yeah,” Swoops replies. He exhales shakily and some of the tension fades from his frame as Kent’s fingers continue to stroke through his hair.

They’re quiet for a while after that and the only sound is the sound of them breathing. Kent drinks his entire mug of tea and sets the empty mug on the side table. He’s just on the verge of falling asleep when he has a thought. He grins and tugs at Swoops’ hair lightly. “Was that your first fighting major?”

Swoops groans and tucks his nose into the side of Kent’s knee. “Maybe.”

Kent laughs outright at that. “My knight in shining armor,” he says wryly.

Swoops snorts. “Does that make you the princess in the tower?”

“Only if you promise to sweep me off my feet.”

Kent can feel Swoops’ grin against his leg.

“Deal.”


	6. pining & dancing at a club / parswoops

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "parswoops where they are both pining and then swoops finds out that Kent is gay, but he doesnt make a move. then he gets jealous at a gay club while Kent is dancing, So they end up dancing together and making out"
> 
> ———
> 
>  **RATING** — T  
>  **TAGS** — Pining, Dancing, Original Male Character(s)

Kent is beautiful when he plays.

Who is Jeff kidding—Kent is beautiful  _always_ —but watching him play is like watching poetry in motion, like watching a hawk in flight. Graceful, flawless, sleek; like he isn’t meant to exist anywhere else.

“You see something you like, Troy?”

Jeff almost jumps out of his skin. “Christ, Mercer; you want me to have a heart attack before we go against the Flames?”

Mercy hums and gives Jeff a significant look that makes him more than a bit nervous before leaning next to him against the glass and watching Kent practice trick shot after trick shot. Spence stands tall, all things considered, and Jeff is once again reminded of how lucky they are to have both Kent and Spencer on their team.

“Nah. You’re a way better winger than Hallsy. Don’t tell him I told you that, though.”

“Well there’s a reason he’s not on the first line,” Jeff sniffs and Mercy snorts out a laugh.

“Come on, you dork; let’s gear up before Parser drills a hole in Spence.”

Jeff watches as Kent shoots once more—a bullet that snipes top shelf, right past Spence’s glove hand, and makes Jeff’s stomach flip pleasantly—before following Mercy back towards the locker room.

 

 

///

 

 

Really Kent shouldn’t find Swoops cooking for him such a turn on.

Kent’s entire apartment smells like a Mexican restaurant, which is, arguably, the best thing his apartment has ever smelled like. He’d been shooed away from helping (“your hands alone are worth like two million a piece, Parser”) so he’s perched at the breakfast bar, chin in hand as he watches Swoops work.

Kent literally moans around his first bite of enchilada, which doesn’t even phase Swoops.

“Tell me again why you went into hockey and not chef school?” Kent says. “Because, like, no joke; this is the best thing I have ever put in my mouth.”

Swoops rolls his eyes, but Kent can see the grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Shut up and eat your enchilada.”

 

 

///

 

 

The thing is, Jeff really should have seen this coming. It’s not like Kent had been keeping it a secret—apparently fucking  _Mercy_  knew, that bastard—but actually hearing Kent say it hits him like a ton of bricks.

“Fairbanks’ Flowers, down on Second? Yeah, my ex got his mom mother’s day flowers from there once so it’s probably decent.”

Jeff feels his stomach drop.

Kent is watching him with a calm look but a defiant set to his jaw and the only thing Jeff can do is smile. He nudges Kent’s shoulder with his own and Jeff watches some of the tension drain from Kent’s frame.

“I’ll definitely check it out, then.”

 

 

///

 

 

It’s not like Kent keeps it a secret, the whole being gay thing. It’s just…it’s  _hockey_ , so it’s not exactly something he advertises. Mercy knows because they were road roommates their rookie year and he’d caught Kent making out with a guy on more than one occasion, but he’s the only one on the Aces who  _knows_ knows. Kent’s sure there are a few that suspect it, but he’s more than happy to let sleeping dogs lie.

So when he lets it slip to Swoops it’s half accident and half…well.

It’s not the first time Kent has had a crush on a teammate and in terms of teammate romances he’s batting a solid zero, but it’s not like crushes are  _logical_ because goddamn he’s have given anything to have a crush on a person who might actually like him back.

Swoops, though, he takes it in stride and Kent…well, Kent doesn’t know what to do with that. He doesn’t know what he’d  _expected_ , really. Swoops is a genuinely good guy and Kent thinks he remembers him saying something about his niece being gay, but it would have been so much  _easier_  if Swoops just turned out to be low key homophobic instead of so readily accepting.

But Swoops moves on like nothing ever happened, and for some reason, Kent’s stomach feels a little bit heavier.

 

 

///

 

 

“C’mon, it’ll be a good time. Everyone has to go to a gay club at least once in their life. I can show you how to dance,” Kent wheedles. “And besides, it’s, like, a Las Vegas law, basically.”

Jeff rolls his eyes but he feels his resolve crumbling. “Fine,” he says with what he hopes is a long-suffering sigh. “But you’re buying.”

“ _Hell_  yeah.”

 

 

///

 

 

The club is, well, a club.

Kent had managed to rope Mercy along too and Jeff imagines this isn’t the first gay club escapade he’s been dragged along on.

They all do a few brightly colored shots and Kent immediately makes his way to the dance floor, while Jeff hangs with Mercy at the bar.

Even that doesn’t last, and after Mercy finishes his beer, he follows Kent’s footsteps onto the dance floor.

“Hey. Can I buy you a drink?”

Jeff startles then blinks owlishly at the man who has approached him. He’s taller than him but shorter than Mercy (most people are shorter than Mercy), with tousled auburn hair and dark eyes that glint in the flashing neon light.

“I, uh—“ Jeff’s cheeks heat up. “I’m good, actually. Thanks though.”

The man shrugs but his smile doesn’t dim. “I’m Adrien. I’ll be over there if you change your mind,” he says, motioning with his chin to a spot at the far side of the bar before sliding away.

Jeff drains the rest of his vodka soda. Where the hell had Mercy and Kent gone anyway?

He scans the crowd, and— Oh.

Kent is…well, he’s  _dancing_  in the loosest sense of the word, grinding against someone Jeff can tell even from this distance is just as pretty as Kent is.

Jeff doesn’t know what comes over him, but one second he’s sitting at the bar and the next he’s pushing through the sweltering throng of bodies towards Kent.

Kent spots him and his eyes brighten. He says something to the man he’s dancing with and breaks away.

“Weren’t you gonna teach me how to dance?” Jeff shouts over the din.

Kent laughs and it’s a beautiful thing, even if Jeff can’t hear it.

“Show me what you’ve got.”

Jeff does, bouncing rhythmically along to the music.

Kent’s hands reach up to run down his shoulders. “Loosen up, old man.  _Try_  to look like you’re having a good time.”

Before Kent’s hands can drop, Jeff’s hands to go Kent’s waist to tug him closer.

Kent’s mouth goes slack and his grip on Jeff’s shoulders tightens instead of pulling away. The look in his pale eyes goes from light to something darker.

Jeff’s heart is in his throat as he dances to Kent’s rhythm. He’s acutely aware of every minuscule action, so when his thumbs slip under Kent’s shirt to brush his hipbones and Kent’s mouth parts slightly, Jeff acts on impulse, leaning down and catching Kent’s mouth with his.

It’s like something snaps and Kent’s fingers tangle in Jeff’s hair, tugging him down further.

It’s all teeth for a heartbeat; then Kent tilts his head and Jeff’s entire world shifts.

Jeff’s hands curl more firmly around Kent’s waist as Kent licks into his mouth and Jeff, well, all Jeff can do is kiss back with everything he has.

If watching Kent skate is something beautiful, being the sole focus of that fierce attention is something divine.


	7. sharing clothes / patater

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Since you were asking for prompts, can you please bless the universe with patater getting caught sharing clothes ( cough cough tater, you can't just put on one of kent's shirts and try to play it off as a crop top goofball 😂💖) - "
> 
> ———
> 
>  **RATING** — T  
>  **TAGS** — Fluff, Sharing Clothes, Original Male Character(s)

It’s the Aces’ first tour of the Eastern Conference of the season, and Kent already misses Vegas.

He’s bundled up in what is objectively too many layers, especially for a man born and raised in upstate New York, but Providence is going through a cold snap, apparently, and the chill had gone straight to his bones as soon as they’d deplaned.

He’d stolen Mercy’s sweater—the man was French Canadian; this weather is probably balmy for him—but even that isn’t doing much to stave off the chill.

His phone buzzes with a message from Lyosha that’s just a string of eyeless Russian smileys. Kent doesn’t feel warmer, but he does feel a little bit lighter.

 

 

///

 

 

It takes two hours before Kent is able to sneak away. He’d cleared it with Coach so he isn’t  _technically_  skipping out on curfew, but sliding into the Lyft still sends a thrill through his chest.

Before Kent even sets foot through the door, Lyosha sweeps him off his feet. Literally.

Kent doesn’t know where along the line his life turned into a goddamn romcom, but he’s not about to start complaining.

“I missed you,” Lyosha mumbles into Kent’s hair, once they’d managed to fumble their way into the apartment and shut the door behind them.

Kent wriggles in Lyosha’s grip and presses a kiss to his collarbone. “Missed you too,” he mumbles back.

Lyosha pulls back, though he certainly looks like he doesn’t want to. He rubs his thumb across Kent’s shoulder. “New sweater?”

“It’s Mercy’s,” Kent shrugs. “I was cold.”

Lyosha’s eyes darken.

“Take it off,” Lyosha says, voice firm and commanding. Kent’s stomach swoops pleasantly. After a pause, he adds: “And I take off rest.”

Mercy’s sweater hits the ground before Lyosha’s even finished talking.

 

 

///

 

 

The Aces take the Falcs 3-2 and as soon as Kent loads onto the plane, he curls up in the big sweater Lyosha had all but forced on to him before he’d left.

Surprisingly, because Kent has  _seen_  Lyosha’s wardrobe, the sweater isn’t emblazoned with some sort of Falconer’s iconography. It’s forest green and cozy to the touch, and, most importantly, smells like it has been drenched in Lyosha’s cologne.

“Yo, Parser, you buying new clothes in  _Providence_? We’re literally about to be in New York City,” Mercy says, plopping into his customary seat behind Kent.

“Maybe you should be the one buying new clothes, Mercer,” Swoops chirps as he collapses into the seat beside Mercy. “I’ve seen better suits on the kids in juniors.”

Mercy makes an indignant squawk. Kent rolls his eyes as his linemates begin to bicker, but with the scent of Lyosha wrapping around him, nothing can bring him down.

 

 

///

 

 

When Tater walks into the gym with a shirt that is  _clearly_  three sizes too small, Griffin gapes at him.

“ _Dude_ ,” he says. “Did you let Thirdy’s kids do your wash or something?”

“Good morning to you too, Snowy. This is first thing I grabbed,” Tater says with a shrug. He takes a casual sip from his water bottle.

“Is that an  _Aces_  shirt?!” Foxy shouts from halfway across the room.

Griffin blinks and, yeah, that  _is_  an Aces shirt, though it’s certainly subtle—black on black. How the hell had Foxy noticed it?

He doesn’t miss the smile that flits across Tater’s face though. Interesting.

“Hm. Yes. How odd.”

“Is it, like, some sort of weird good luck charm to wear the merch of teams who just beat us, or…?” Griffin asks.

“Maybe,” Tater replies slyly. “You should try.”

Griffin snorts. “Yeah, right. I’ll stick with listening to the same playlist on repeat before a game like a  _normal_  hockey player, you absolute heathen.”

Tater laughs and the moment passes, but Griffin can’t get the image of Tater in an Aces shirt out of his head.


	8. 5+1 saying "I do" / parswoops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five times Jeff says _I do_ and one time Kent does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "hi, i saw that you were asking for prompts? something with parswoops would be so cool, i love how everyone comes up with a different version of his character :) something fluffy and domestic maybe? or a getting together fic?"
> 
> ———
> 
>  **RATING** — T  
>  **TAGS** — 5+1, Blood, Alcohol, Happy Ending

**1.**

“You  _have_  the space, right?”

“I do…”

“So tell Cap you’ll do it.”

Jeff makes a non-committal noise.

Banksy looks unimpressed.

“Dude, it’s either take in the rookie or buy a fuckin’ cat or something because I swear to Christ it’s like you basically live in my apartment at this point and it would be  _super_  awesome for me if I could bring a girl home without having to worry if you’re camped out on my couch playing Call of Duty in your fuckin’ boxers or not.”

“Well, shit, Banks, when you put it that way.”

Banksy leans over and nudges Jeff’s shoulder with his own before going back to lacing up his skates. “I just want you to be happy, bro.”

Jeff sighs and he knows he’s done for.

He lets Keats know that he can house the Aces’ first draft pick—whoever that ends up being—the next morning.

 

 

 

**2.**

The Kent Jeff knows at practice is not the Kent Jeff knows at home.

With the team, Kent is quick-witted, chirps just as loudly as the rest of them, goofs around with some of the other younger guys, and is an absolute menace on the ice. But back home…

Back home Kent is nothing if not polite but he’s…he’s quiet. He stays in his room more often than not. They eat dinner together and they’re quiet affairs, reigned by the sound of silverware instead of conversation. More than once, Jeff has caught Kent with his eyes red-rimmed.

He doesn’t know what to do. Should he tell Keats? Coach? Try to call Kent’s mom or his sister? Jeff only has a few years on Kent and he tries to remember how he felt his rookie year. Maybe Kent is homesick.

It all comes to a head when Jeff comes home from dinner with Bells and Banksy.

Kent is on the floor in the kitchen with his back to the fridge and his head between his knees. In front of him is the shattered glass. Jeff’s keys clatter to the ground in his hurry to fall to Kent’s side.

“Are you okay? Did you cut yourself?” Jeff asks. He doesn’t see blood, which is good, but then why is Kent on the ground?

Kent glances up and his face is a mess of tears, but more than that—he’s white as a sheet. He looks like he’s seen a ghost.

So maybe it’s not homesickness that’s making him sad.

Kent opens his mouth to speak, but his words get caught in his throat and he buries his face in his knees again. Hesitantly, Jeff reaches out to rest his hand on Kent’s shoulder.

Kent tenses for a heartbeat and Jeff almost pulls his hand away, but then Kent relaxes into the touch.

They stay like that—Kent curled up on the hardwood floor, Jeff’s thumb rubbing circles on his back—for a while. Jeff doesn’t keep track of the time.

Finally, Kent glances up with a shaky breath.

“Do you have any chicken noodle soup?” Kent asks with a weak smile.

“I’m pretty sure I do.”

 

 

 

**3.**

The club is flashing blue lights and music so loud Jeff can feel it in his chest.

Banksy is there, and Ryker and Hallsy. Kent too, which is half of the reason Jeff tagged along.

One of the good things about Vegas is that it’s not a hockey town. It’s not Boston or Toronto or Chicago. Jeff’s not worried about being recognized for who he is and that makes going to clubs a little bit easier.

Jeff is glued to Banksy’s side when Kent comes back with an array of rainbow-colored liquor.

“Who wants to do shots?”

Kent’s smile is sharp and dangerous and Jeff wants to lose himself in it. Jeff smiles back.

“I do.”

 

 

 

**4.**

The NHL Awards ceremony being in Vegas means they don’t have to travel, but it doesn’t seem to make Kent any less all over the place.

He’s currently a tornado, whirling through their apartment in nothing but his boxer briefs and an unbuttoned white button-down.

After a few moments of watching this with amusement, he grabs Kent loosely by the wrist.

Kent scowls up at him but Jeff presses a kiss to the corner of Kent’s mouth and the scowl melts away.

“Do you have a navy tie I could borrow?” Kent asks.

“Of course I do, baby.”

 

 

 

**5.**

“You ever think about life…after?”

Jeff is quiet for a few moments. The lake water is cool against his feet and the wooden dock is sun-warm and smells like summer. Mercy sits to his left. Bansky and Kent are splashing around near the shore with Keats’ and Deso’s kids and their happy shrieks echo.

“Sometimes,” Jeff admits. What he doesn’t say is that ever since Bells had broken his arm, he’d been thinking about how easy it would be for hockey to be taken away from him and how, eventually, time would take it away from him anyway. “It’s so far away though, you know?”

“Yeah,” Mercy agrees.

They’re quiet for a while and Jeff finds himself staring absently at Kent. He doesn’t realize what he’s doing until Mercy nudges him.

“So,” Mercy says with a grin that Jeff has seen mirrored on Kent’s face. It’s not the first time that Jeff is sure that Kent and Mercy are long-lost brothers. “You and Parser, eh? You think you wanna spend the rest of your life keeping up with him?”

Jeff lets himself think about it, lets himself imagine a future with him and Kent and a  _family_. It feels right. “Yeah, Merce. Yeah, I do.”

 

 

 

**+1**

“Do you, Kent Victor Parson, take Jeffrey Andrew Troy to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do.”


End file.
